A decade ago David Mamet's play raised tempests and divided partners. Now, with two perfectly decent Hollywood actors in the lead, it seems rather cool: a clever artifice in which you are more aware than before of Mamet's manipulation.

Carol, a bewildered student, comes to her professor, John, confessing her inability to cope with her course: responding to her vulnerability, he turns his attention upon her and even places protective hands on her shoulders. By the second half Carol, reinforced by the sanctity of her "group", is accusing him of sexism, elitism, harassment and rape in a way that leads to his ruin.

Mamet is not just attacking the lunatic excesses of political correctness. His play is really a lament for the destruction of mutual trust and personal interaction that makes academic freedom possible. America, he suggests, is becoming a sectionalised society made up of special interest groups who ring for their lawyers rather than risk human communication. John does it when buying a house; Carol when confronted by an intimidating professor.

But, while Mamet shows there are faults on both sides, there is no denying the balance of sympathy lies with the professor. It is true that he is guilty of academic vanity and paternalistic posturing; but, because we have seen what happens between him and Carol, we know that her charges are false. By a dramatic sleight of hand, Mamet also shows the pathetically defenceless student of the first half turning into the vindictive accuser of the second.

Pinter's brilliant 1993 production restored the moral equilibrium by implying that the professor was physically attracted to his student: in his heart, at least, he was culpable. But, in Lindsay Posner's production, Aaron Eckhart's John seems intellectually overbearing but physically shy. And when he touches the tearful student it is with the utmost tentativeness: the result is to make his destruction seem like an act of wanton cruelty.

Julia Stiles also captures well Carol's youthful frailty and quivering uncertainty, but she never makes clear where her later excess of confidence comes from.

What you are left with is a skilful thesis-drama in which a hero is destroyed by false accusation rather than, as with Albee's The Goat, a scorching tragedy in which hubris gets its come-uppance.